


girl(space)friend

by restez



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: (back with my platonic!chlodrien agenda), (mayhaps im predictable), Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Miraculous, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 12:38:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19062859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/restez/pseuds/restez
Summary: College definitely isn't easy, but Adrien tries his best.Not alone, of course.or:Adrien and Chloé are best friends in college who help each other out.





	girl(space)friend

**Author's Note:**

> You can probably tell that finals week is coming up for me after you read this fic orz! But if any of you are having a busy/ difficult time at school rn, I wrote this fic to be comforting, so I hope it helps. I just needed soft Chloe and Adrien living their college lives together, being sappy friends. 
> 
> I reference these poems during the fic:  
> \- "Other Lives and Dimensions and Finally A Love Poem," Bob Hicok  
> \- "Distances," Philippe Jaccottet

 

College definitely isn’t easy, but Adrien tries his best.

 

Not alone, of course.

 

When he wakes up from his involuntary nap in the library, he spots the coffee cup and croissant placed on a napkin first, Chloé second. With fumbling hands, he stuffs the pastry into his mouth, chasing it down with a gulp of what tastes like an Americano; it’s still a little warm this time. 

 

“You got drool on your textbook,” she tells him, not even looking up from her magazine (the latest issue of  _ Elle _ , and judging from all the pages flagged with sticky notes, it’s his). 

 

Adrien peers down at the desk, sees the pool of his own spit all over the words. “How long have you been here?”

 

“Not long.” She glances at her watch. “About half an hour. I came here right after my last class.”

 

He sets his head back down on his book, squishing his cheek against a particularly long passage about meter and rhyme, and stares at her in confusion. “I thought you had that criminology course at five on Fridays.”

 

“I do, but the professor cancelled it last minute.” She pauses, raises her eyebrows at the magazine, and shows him the double-page spread featuring her mother’s newest winter collection. Simultaneously, they both make a face of disapproval; even if they weren’t biased against Audrey Bourgeois, the designs would still look terrible. Chloé flips to the next page. “So I decided to come here a bit earlier. I would’ve brought you a bigger snack, but I figured we could go and grab some dinner.”

 

Groaning, Adrien hugs the desk, knocking a couple of his highlighters to the floor in the process. “ _ No _ , I can’t. I gotta study for this stupid lit final so that I can pass this stupid lit class for my stupid lit major so that I can take more stupid lit classes.”

 

“Adrikins, please,” Chloé says, rolling her eyes. “You’ve been studying for this test for the past two weeks. I think you can afford to take one hour to eat a meal that’s not a cup of noodles and a pack of fruit snacks.” Ignoring his pout, she adds, “Besides, you promised me we’d go out to eat together last week.”

 

The memory is vague, but he  _ does  _ remember that. 

 

He frowns, cocking his head in consideration.

 

A nice, hot meal prepared by a chef that’s not his microwave  _ would  _ be nice, and there’s only so many passages and sentences he can underline, circle, and highlight before he’s ready to tear a whole textbook apart. “Okay, fine. But I get to choose what we have for dessert. We can’t just have chocolate cake every time.”

 

“I’m tired of your vendetta against humankind’s greatest blessing,” replies Chloé, but her expression is bright, and she’s already looking up places to eat on her phone. 

 

Adrien starts gathering his things, and with a small smile on his face, shakes his head. “I just don’t get how you’re a pre-law criminal justice major, and you’re handling hell week better than I am.”

 

“Adrien,” she says, tossing her ponytail over her shoulder. “Chloé Bourgeois is immune to stress. I’m not like you peasants.”

 

He crumples up the napkin from the croissant she bought him and hurls it at her.

 

///

 

As it turns out, Chlo é Bourgeois is not immune to stress.

 

When he gets home from the library late on Sunday night, he finds her lying on the living room floor, surrounded by stacks of notebooks and flashcards, chanting, “I’m very, very stressed,” to the tune of “Breaking Free” from  _ High School Musical _ .

 

Adrien sets his backpack down by the sofa and sits beside her, crossing his legs and picking up her incredibly heavy philosophy textbook. “Want me to quiz you?”

 

She rolls onto her stomach and bleats, “Yes, please.”

 

They spend a little over an hour reviewing all the vocabulary words and technical terms until she delivers the definitions confidently, without stammering. By the time they finish, it’s nearly two in the morning, and they’re both tired but reluctant to head off to bed. Neither of them have any exams tomorrow, but the idea of finally starting finals week is unappealing.

 

“Hey.” He nudges her arm with his foot. 

 

“What,” she whines, swatting at his leg, but immediately squirming over to lay her head on his lap.

 

“You wanna watch  _ Sailor Moon  _ or something? I’ll scoop us some ice cream.”

 

Chlo é looks up at him with wide, round eyes. “Adrien Agreste, you’re an angel.”

 

He grins, playing with the ends of her ponytail. “I know.”

 

///

 

Chloé ends up falling asleep before the fifth episode even finishes.

 

To her credit, she does a great job trying to keep her eyes open during the theme song, but eventually settles against his side and lets her head drop on his shoulder. She watches the episode for a few more minutes and then slowly dozes off.

 

Adrien knows he should probably wake her up and take her to bed; they’ll both regret falling asleep on the couch in the morning; he can already feel the crick in his neck, the ache in his limbs. 

 

Even so, he stays: on the sofa, beside her, wearily watching the television screen. And when he shifts to find a more comfortable position, he’s careful to avoid dislodging Chloé from his shoulder. He’s pretty sure she pulled an all-nighter on Saturday to cram for exam.

 

It’s okay if he falls asleep here. Adrien knows that no matter how upset she’ll be about her sore body when they wake up tomorrow, she’ll be easily won over by a plate of waffles for breakfast.

 

They’ve done this enough times before for him to be certain of this.

 

///

 

“So I almost burned down the kitchen,” says Chloé on Wednesday evening, right as he walks through the door.

 

“Okay,” Adrien replies carefully, standing there with an armful of poetry anthologies. “Why?”

 

“Because I’m a great friend, and I wanted to make you a nice dinner of spaghetti to wish you good luck on your last final tomorrow.” She squints at a piece of paper, which Adrien guesses is the sheet of instructions she’s been following. “But then the pasta started burning when I tried boiling it, so I put it out, and it kinda ruined everything.”

 

He feels oddly touched, even though he can still smell the smoke from the mishap she mentions. “You didn’t have to do that—make dinner, I mean, not the part about putting out the fire. Besides, I thought you swore off cooking after you tried baking cupcakes with Marinette.”

 

“That’s why I thought it’d be a nice surprise.” Sighing in frustration, she crumples up the recipe and pouts. “I guess we could always order pizza. I’ll let you get the toppings you like for the entire thing, even though pineapple is an abomination.”

 

Adrien laughs and sets his books down on the kitchen table. “What if I go out and buy more pasta, and we try making that spaghetti together?”

 

Her face lights up—but she hesitates. “Are you sure? I mean, ordering some food would be a lot quicker and easier. And you probably have to study.”

 

“True,” he says, crossing his arms and smiling, “but when have we ever done things the easy way?”

 

Chloé beams at him.

 

///

 

Making spaghetti goes a lot more smoothly the second time around. 

 

They follow an online recipe and add mayonnaise to the tomato sauce, and it actually tastes really  _ good _ . So good that Chloé lifts her self-imposed ban on cooking, but Adrien tells her she should maybe wait for him to be around before she tries making any other meals. She agrees, but not without sticking her tongue out at him when she thinks he’s not looking.

 

After eating, Adrien reads bits and pieces of poems from his textbooks to her. They don’t really agree on any of them; she wrinkles her nose at some of his favorites, and he raises his eyebrows at hers, but it’s fun. This semester was tough, and Adrien hasn’t enjoyed reading poetry in a while, but reciting all these stanzas and lines he’s marked as important, it makes him feel—content; satisfied;  _ happy. _

 

“Wait, I like that line,” she interrupts, and he looks up at her, surprised. “What?”

 

He shakes his head. “No, it’s just...I like that one, too. It’s one of my favorites, actually.”

 

Chloé leans forward, grinning cheekily. “Oh, so you finally have taste?”

 

Adrien snorts. “I could say the same to you.”

 

She scoffs, but stares at the book in his hands thoughtfully. “Can you read that line again?”

 

Obligingly, he traces his finger back through the line, right to the beginning, and takes a breath before starting.

 

“‘Perhaps I am somewhere patient,” he reads, “‘somehow’”—a pause—“‘kind, perhaps in the nook of a cousin universe I’ve never defiled or betrayed anyone.’”

 

A silence, long and poignant.

 

( _ I want to be a better friend to you _ , Chloé told him, all those years ago.  _ I just want to be better. _

 

_ I know _ , he said back.  _ Me too. _ )

 

They meet each other’s gazes and—here they are, cooking together and having dinner together and reading poetry together; all those things never seemed possible when they were in high school; but now they look at each other and—smile.

 

_ other lives and dimensions and cousin universes and different theres and elsewheres _ , says Bob Hicok, but Adrien—he’s happy here, in this one.

 

///

 

When Adrien walks out of the literature building the next day, finally free, Chloé is waiting for him on the front steps, bundled up in a thick coat and scarf. 

 

“Hello,” she greets, pushing a thermos of hot green tea into his hands.

 

“Hngh,” he replies, clutching the drink close, trying to seek warmth from wherever he can. 

 

“Damn, was it that bad?” She links their arms together, managing to hold her ground even when he leans against her. 

 

Adrien shrugs. “I think I mostly did okay, but one of the questions stumped me.”

 

They spend a few moments passing the tea back and forth between each other. “What did it ask?”

 

“It was an excerpt from a poem, and I had to name the author—but I don’t think I studied this one.” He huffs, disappointed. 

 

“There were a lot of poems,” she reassures. “You can’t read them all. Do you remember what the quote was?”

 

Adrien scratches the back of his head, trying to recall the exact words. “I think it went something like, ‘love grows in a quiet house,’ and there was some other stuff about a lamp. I already forgot.”

 

Chloé frowns. “I don’t remember that one from your study guide—or your flashcards.”

 

“Right?” he exclaims, stamping his feet, partly from indignation and partly because it’s so cold. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just remembering it wrong. I’ll look it up when we get back to the apartment.”

 

“Cool, and then we can go yell at your professor for putting stuff you didn’t study on the test."

 

Her comment manages to make him smile. “If that worked, I would’ve yelled at half the faculty by now.”

 

Sniffing, she tosses her hair. “ _ I  _ already have.”

 

He snorts. “Somehow, I don’t doubt that.”

 

///

 

Later that night, Adrien finds the poem.

 

And maybe it’s because it’s 3:30 in the morning or because he’s a stupid, sentimental literature major, but some part of his heart gets stuck on that line that tripped him up on his exam. 

 

_ Ainsi l’amour _ , he mouths in the silence of his bedroom,  _ dans la maison fermée s’accroît, tourne et travaille,  _ (and he pauses here)  _ serviteur des soucieux portant une lampe à la main. _

 

(and love grows

 

in the quiet house, turning and working,

 

servant of thought, a lamp held in one hand.)

 

///

 

Love grows in the quiet house.

 

When the next semester starts, he’ll nap in the library again, and Chloé will fall back into the routine of bringing him snacks and drinks, of pointing out the dried drool on the pages of his books, of dragging him off to dinner when he suggests eating mac-and-cheese for the fifth night in a row.

 

But even now, now during winter vacation and the holidays, they can try making dinner again, baking with Marinette’s help, marathoning old animes together late (latelate) into the night, reading poems together, and loving—quietly; wordlessly; in a small terrarium of their own in a world where  _ the heart flies from tree to bird, from bird to distant star, from star to love. _

 

Yeah; college definitely isn’t easy, but Chloé and Adrien try their best.

 

Together.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

>  **chloe:** i'm making dinner tonight. you should come over  
>  **adrien:** okay sure yes  
>  **chloe:** we're having spaghetti and meatballs  
>  **adrien:** swaghetti and memeballs lol  
>  **chloe:**  
>  **adrien:**  
>  **chloe:** you're uninvited  
>  **adrien:** that's fair


End file.
